The Hexed Professors
by Catherine Cook
Summary: Severus Snape TOOK A BATH! Minerva McGonagall WORE HER HAIR LOOSE! What horrible goings-on does this all portend?
1.

(Note: JK Rowling owns Snape and everyone else you recognize from the HP books. The late great Patrick O'Brian owned Jack Aubrey, but never wrote about him as a young lad. CC)  
=========  
The Hexed Professors  
  
  
Potions Master Severus Snape was not in a good mood that morning.   
  
A rare day off, and Minerva McGonagall had to spoil it by requesting his intercession on behalf on some blockheaded Gryffindor resident. Something about causing a toilet seat to materalize around the neck of Draco Malfoy. Thus, instead of being hard at work on studying the latest delayed-action poisons, he was sitting in Professor McGonagall's rooms listening to her tedious pleas for clemency for yet another malefactor.  
  
Ah, well, he thought, resigning himself to the situation, at least she's treating me to some excellent sherry. Professor Snape's formidable knowledge of magical concoctions was sufficiently broad to also embrace a very good apprehension of wines, both Muggle and magical. And Professor McGonagall, though she was softhearted like all the misguided Gryffindors from Dumbledore on down, did possess the most exquisite taste in vintages.   
  
"Professor," he said with somewhat less than his usual abrasiveness, "does it not occur to you that by sparing this boy the punishment that is his due, you are in fact telling him that he may run riot without any constraints whatsoever?"  
  
"That is why I wish to suggest to you an alternate punishment, Professor Snape," replied McGonagall. "The lad in question, Jack Aubrey, is a bold and daring one, but not an overly studious one. Scholarship of any form is sheer torture to him. I suggest that, instead of docking Gryffindor fifty points, we instead only dock it ten points, but have the boy write a research essay on a subject of your choosing."  
  
Snape smiled, an act which frightened his students because it usually meant he had something wicked up his sleeve. Oh, Minerva McGonagall may be a softie, but he was forced to admit to himself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her brain. She had correctly sensed that he wouldn't mind having someone, even a blockhead, to assist him with the more tedious portions of his research. This would more than compensate for the lost afternoon of today. "I accept your proposal, Professor, on one condition."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"That you tell me where you found this bottle of sherry."  
  
Professor McGonagall smiled broadly, a rarity for her. "I didn't find it, Professor Snape. It was given to me as a gift some years ago by one of my students. Desiderata Hamilton, a skilled transfigurationist and charms worker. Her mother's family are the DuMonts, the sherry-makers of France. Elixir D'Bienveillance, it's called. I've always wanted to open it, but never have until now."  
  
"Well, I am heartily glad that you chose to share some of it with me," Snape said, surprising himself and Professor McGonagall with his good humor.  
  
"And I am glad that you are so amenable to mercy, Professor Snape," replied Professor McGonagall in kind. Her eyes shone rather more brightly than usual, Snape thought, and put it down to her happiness at his unexpected agreement with her offer. He took his leave of her in much better humour than when he arrived.  
  
On the way back to his own rooms, the odd thought struck him that she would be quite a beauty if only she would let her hair down. He shook it from his head and continued walking. But, without consciously realizing it, he made a mental note to himself to comb his hair and wear a better robe tomorrow.  
  
Professor McGonagall watched Snape depart, and felt astonishingly gratified over his unexpectedly humane reaction to her proposal. Why, he is a very cultured man, underneath that acid exterior. And he could be quite handsome, too. If only he would do something about his hair -- perhaps wear a different robe as well... Thinking about his hair caused her to think of hers. Without realizing why, she suddenly decided to wear it loose tomorrow.  
  
----  
  
Hermione ran, bursting with news, down the hall to meet Ron and Harry on their way to Potions class.  
  
"Did you see Professor McGonagall today?", she said. "She wore her hair down!"  
  
"Yes, she did," said Ron abstractedly, riffling through his Potions notes. "Looked rather pretty, for a change."  
  
"I think she looks _beautiful_," Hermione replied, walking in step with them. "She really should do it more often."  
  
"I wonder what caused her to let her hair down today?" said Harry. "She usually prefers to look as stern as possible, to keep the Slytherins from thinking she's a softie."  
  
"Well, she was a touch milder in class today, I think, but not a creampuff by any means," Hermione said consideringly.  
  
"What's a creampuff?", asked Ron, as they walked down the steps to the dungeon.  
  
"It's a Muggle dessert," explained Harry. "Puff pastry with a soft cream filling. Aunt Petunia makes them for Dudley all the time, but she never lets me have any. Just as well, I guess, because they've helped turn Dudley into a fat stupid git."  
  
"Well, one thing Snape's not, then, and that's a creampuff," said Ron darkly as they turned the corner to the dungeon. "If he's stuffed with anything, it's dragon's bile."  
  
The students filed into the dungeon classroom, taking their places at their desks, heads down so as not to attract Snape's attention. It didn't do to call oneself to Professor Snape's attention, not unless you were a Slytherin.  
  
And this is why it wasn't until they were all seated and facing the front of the classroom, that they noticed that Professor Snape was wearing a white shirt underneath his black robes. What's more, his hair had every appearance of having recently been washed.  
  
A hush fell over the class, a hush to which Professor Snape was apparently oblivious, as he went through his usual sarcastic paces -- though, to the Gryffindors at least, he seemed to be noticeably less nasty than usual.  
  
"I can't believe it!," whispered Hermione fiercely to a stunned Ron. "Did you sneak into his office and put Amity Brew into his pumpkin juice?"  
  
"No!", replied Ron, just as fiercely. "But I'll do the homework for whoever did."  
  
Harry, for his part, kept silent through the class, but he did glance up now and then to see how the Slytherins were reacting as Snape made his rounds from desk to desk. They seemed to be struck dumb; even Malfoy was too shocked to utter more than a "Thank you, sir" as Snape gave him the usual glowing appraisal he gave to all Slytherins.   
  
For once, Potions class sped by quickly. Neville, his nerves calmed by Snape's unexpected non-viciousness, actually managed to get through the session without so much as scorching his brew, much less ruining the cauldron. And the unbelieveable happened: Snape didn't take a single point off any of the Gryffindors. It was a shocked Potions class that filed out the door at the end of the period.  
  
"He must be possessed," said Hermione as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. "He absolutely must be possessed."  
  
"By what, and why?" Ron asked. "Whatever it is, we should thank it for getting Snape to wash his hair and change his clothes for once in his life. He almost looks tolerable now, especially when he's not taking points off anyone."  
  
Harry stopped in his tracks, forcing his friends to stop with him. "I don't think," he said in a quiet voice, "that he's the only one who's been acting strangely today."  
  
Hermione was the first to realise what he was getting at. "Professor McGonagall?", she whispered, as Ron stared. Harry nodded silently.  
  
"Do you think that she put him under a spell?" asked Ron.   
  
"I think rather that somebody's hexing the both of them," asserted Harry glumly. "Whoever or whatever's doing it must be a very powerful wizard. And I don't think he, she or it is doing it for anyone's benefit."  
  
"Oh, how horrible!", Hermione cried, clapping a hand to her cheek. "We should tell Dumbledore right away, before it's too late!"  
  
They immediately changed direction, running towards Professor Dumbledore's offices as fast as their legs would carry them.  
  
------  
  
Young Aubrey was turning out to be a pleasant surprise to Professor Snape. The lad was polite, remorseful and more than willing to make amends. He didn't even flinch when Snape sat him in a corner to take careful notes on the subtle changes occurring in a batch of cooling asafoetida-potions.   
  
"I'll be back in a hour to check on your progress, Aubrey," said Snape as he made his way up to his office. "I'll leave the door open so that the stink doesn't overwhelm you."  
  
"Thank you, sir," replied Jack, who did his best to stifle a coughing fit.   
  
As he climbed the stairs up from the dungeon, Snape realised suddenly that, for the first time he could remember, he didn't feel either angry or miserable. In fact, he felt quite good, even happy, as if a weight had been lifted from him. This puzzled him somewhat. He tried to put his finger on a possible reason for his good mood: Did the bath he took this morning do it? Or perhaps the new shirt?   
  
Come to think of it, he pondered as he entered his office, he'd been feeling good ever since he visited Professor McGonagall yesterday, and had some of that delicious sherry.  
  
The sherry.  
  
His blood ran cold. I've been hexed, he thought. McGonagall's hexed me. This explained why he had dreamed of her last night, a dream in which she was running to him, laughing, her long black hair freed to stream over her shoulders like a banner.  
  
How _dare_ she!  
  
He was just about to storm over towards Dumbledore's office to lodge a complaint when he saw Professor McGonagall herself standing in his office doorway, as beautiful as in his dream, her hair streaming down her shoulders. She was holding the bottle of Elixir D'Bienveilliance, looking as crestfallen as she did when she had to shake his hand after Dumbledore last awarded the House cup to Slytherin.  
  
"Professor Snape," she said, "we must get this sherry tested. I'm afraid we've both been hexed by it."  
  
----  
  
Snape pushed himself away from his desk, tired, angry and more than a little afraid. He and Professor McGonagall had thrown their best hex detectors at the sherry, and turned up nothing. Yet something in that bottle had power nearly equal to that of an Imperius Curse.   
  
His only satisfaction came from the knowledge that while he was angry, Minerva -- blast it, Professor McGonagall! -- was utterly and totally mortified. "I had no idea Desiderata would _do_ such a thing, Sever-- Professor Snape," she said, shaking her head in shock and dismay. "She was always the very best-behaved of pupils."  
  
"Spoken like a true Gryffindor, always defending your own malefactors. How do we know she isn't in league with Voldemort himself?"  
  
That caused Professor McGonagall to break down in tears. She sobbed into the handkerchief she had been clutching for two hours, her shoulders shaking.  
  
Now it was Snape's turn to feel ashamed and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said, walking over to her; but she didn't hear him, she was too far gone in her crying fit. He put his arms around her -- why, he didn't know; it just seemed like the thing to do -- and she fell into them, burying her tear-streaked face in his shirt. He held onto her for some time; there was something oddly pleasant about it, and he had the distinct impression that it soothed Professor McGonagall, for her sobs soon subsided and she rested inside his arms, quietly and comfortably.  
  
"Minerva," he said, softly and without rancor, causing her to raise her face to his.  
  
"Severus," she replied in a voice equally soft and filled with wonder.  
  
Their gazes met and locked. Professor McGonagall felt her lips part slightly, as if she were about to recieve a kiss. She shook herself suddenly, and shivered.   
  
"We have to tell Professor Dumbledore," she said, removing herself abruptly from his arms. "This is too much for the two of us to handle by ourselves."  
  
Professor Snape nodded in silent agreement.  
  
-------  
  
" -- and so we felt, Sever-- Professor Snape and I, that we had to come to you immediately, and to send word to Miss Hamilton." Professor McGonagall was standing alongside a quiet Professor Snape in Dumbledore's office, explaining the situation. "I can't believe that she would do such a thing, and I'm wondering if perhaps the curse wasn't placed on the bottle after I received it."  
  
Dumbledore's face was impassive and calm. "I see," he said, leaning forward in his chair, his beard brushing the top of his desk. "Show me the bottle in question."  
  
Snape handed him the Elixir D'Bienveilliance. Dumbledore uncorked it, sniffed the stopper -- and to the horror of Snape and McGonagall, took a very deep swallow.  
  
"Albus! What are you doing?" McGonagall shrieked.  
  
"Are you mad, Dumbledore?" cried Snape, his face even paler than normal.  
  
Dumbledore set down the bottle with a thump, smacking his lips with relish.   
  
"Not at all, Severus, not at all -- at least not this week. I can categorically tell you that there is not a single hex of any sort on either this bottle or its contents." He raised his hand, cutting off their protestations before they could utter them. "Note that I said that there is not a single 'hex'. A hex, as you both well know, is an additive spell. It adds something to its target: a heavy compulsion, the weight of restraint, an extra unwanted appendage, perhaps. You two, on the other hand, do not look as if you have had anything _added_ to you. On the contrary, you each feel as if something has been taken away -- something that was holding you back, restraining you, keeping you from feeling happy."  
  
A smiling Professor Dumbledore stoppered the bottle as Snape and McGonagall, suddenly struck dumb, looked on. "I was anticipating your visit, having already been called upon by several students who were themselves concerned that you might both be under the effects of a hex. But I could tell from their descriptions that what they feared had occurred, and what had actually happened, were two different things. A little reading in my _Dictionary of Magical Wines and Spirits_ will confirm my diagnosis, I suspect." He pointed to the bookshelves on his left, crying "_Accio!_" A slim wine-colored volume flew into his hand, and Dumbledore started flipping through the pages. "Now, where is it? Ah, here. Read this aloud, if you will, Severus," he said, handing the book to Professor Snape.  
  
"'Elixir D'Bienveilliance -- This extremely rare DuMont sherry's name translates into English as 'The Elixir of Friendliness'. It is an excellent all-purpose curse remover and lessener of irrational anger and inhibitions. A handful of successful peace treaties, Muggle and magical, have been negotiated while the negotiators were unwittingly under its influence. It ends feuds and promotes harmony -- never through coercion or compulsion, but rather by showing the drinker that harmony is more sensible and more pleasant than hatred. It is also useful in resolving lovers' quarrels and arguments between spouses, stripping away the rancour to allow the love to be freely expressed.'" Snape slowly, painfully looked up from the book. "I don't believe it," he whispered. "I can't believe it. My entire being rebels against it. But there is no other explanation."  
  
Professor McGongall couldn't speak, but the flush of red in her cheeks -- a flush that matched the one spreading over Snape's usual pallor -- spoke for her.  
  
Dumbledore's customary eye-twinkle was at its twinkliest. "Really, you two," he said, shaking his head amusedly. "You have been so conditioned to see the worst in one another that when something innocent happens to cause you both to put down your respective guards, you panic. You both immediately assumed you had been hexed, without stopping to consider other, less onerous, possibilities."  
  
Dumbledore rose from his desk again, this time in a gesture of dismissal. "Now that this business of 'hexes' has been cleared up, I must take my leave of you -- Fudge needs me over at the Ministry. I'll leave it to you two to decide what to do next." And with that Dumbledore made a gesture with his right hand.  
  
The walls of his office, and Dumbledore himself, shimmered and dissolved. In their place appeared the almost Orientally-opulent furnishings of the Damask Suite, the guest chamber Hogwarts reserved for its most honored visitors. Apparently Dumbledore reckoned that the Snape-McGonagall peace treaty negotiations needed to take place in neutral territory, not an office.  
  
They were utterly alone.   
  
Professor Snape turned towards Professor McGonagall, saw that she still had that same very attractive rush of color flooding her cheeks and lips.  
  
"Minerva," he said, softly and quietly, gathering her into his arms.  
  
Severus," she answered in kind, melting into his embrace, her eyes locked with his, her lips awaiting a kiss. She didn't break away this time.  
  
  
  
=======  
(Author's Note: Yes, I understand that some people take JKR's often-tongue-in-cheek interviews seriously, and thus believe that Minerva is in her seventies -- which, they think, prevents her from having a love life. To them I say: Pish-tosh! And I also ask them to explain Professor M's flowing black hair, which has not a single gray intruder -- nor does JKR describe M's face as being "wrinkled" or use the words "old" or "ugly" to describe McGonagall. So there! CC)   
  
  



	2. 

(Author's Note: Since so many of you demanded it, here's a continuation of "The Hexed Professors"! C.C.)  
  
The kiss, when it happened, was glorious.  
  
Severus lightly touched his lips to Minerva's own, then slowly slid his serpentine tongue (he was not head of Slytherin House for nothing) between them, opening them like the petals of a flower.   
  
She tasted to him of honey and hyssop and elderflower wine. He tasted to her of cinnamon and smelled of amber musk. Pressed together as they were, they could feel each other's hearts beating faster with each moment.  
  
He broke away for a moment so he could study her face. Her eyes shone like sapphires and her entire face and neck were flushed. Just as, he reckoned, his own would be.  
  
"How far do you want to take this right now?", he asked, stroking her hair away from her cheeks.   
  
"As far as you want it to go," she replied, undoing the fastenings of his robe.  
  
He smiled down at her. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, running his hands along her sleek, sensual form. He suddenly stopped. "Oh, no!"  
  
"Severus, what is it?"  
  
"Young Aubrey. I left him down in the dungeons with some brewing asafoetida. He's probably half-dead from the stench by now."  
  
"Oh, dear!"  
  
Refastening garments as they ran, they went swiftly down to the dungeons....


End file.
